


A Touch, a Tear, a Tempest

by beetle



Series: Of Firsts and Forever [1]
Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types, Mass Effect: Andromeda
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Dancing, F/F, F/M, Falling In Love, First Kiss, First Love, Height Differences, Hook-Up, Interspecies Romance, Love at First Sight, M/M, Post-Game(s), Sara is lonely and knows it, Tartarus, Tempest - Freeform, Vetra is lonely and doesn't know it, Wedding Fluff, Wedding Reception, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-09
Updated: 2017-05-09
Packaged: 2018-10-29 18:54:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10859994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beetle/pseuds/beetle
Summary: At Scott Ryder and Reyes Vidal’s wedding reception, two lone-wolves start sniffing around each other.





	A Touch, a Tear, a Tempest

**Author's Note:**

> Notes/Warnings: Set post-game, vague spoilers.

* * *

 

“love   
wounds me   
with soft pillows   
with tender lips   
and fingers”—Sanober Khan

* * *

 

“Some shindig, huh?”

 

Vetra Nyx had been leaning against a pylon in _Tartarus_ , nursing her very expensive bottle of Drossix Blue, when a soft, slightly scratchy alto made her glance around to her left.

 

“Oh!” She hiccupped, then chuckled quietly, staring down into Sara Ryder’s big, grey-green-brown eyes. She was pretty sure the human term for such a mesmerizing, changeable color was _hazel_. “It certainly _is_ the shin-iest of digs!” Vetra agreed, covering her mouth with her free hand as she hiccupped again. Sometimes, an open-bar wedding reception was more of a curse than a blessing. She wondered if Sid was behaving herself around so much alcohol . . . but didn’t feel like searching the crowd for her little sister. “It’s been a while, Pathfinder . . . how are you?”

 

Sara Ryder laughed a little, those strange, captivating eyes twinkling up at Vetra from a square, friendly face the color of Salarian mocha, with fine, high brows and prominent cheekbones. Her mouth—full, even for a human’s—curved and twitched, shiny with tinted lip-shimmer. “I’m _great_! But I’d be _better_ if I could get you to call me ‘Sara,’” she said, tossing fine, waist-length braids over her bare, brown shoulder.

 

“Oh, uh. Right.” Vetra tore her gaze away from Sara Ryder’s smooth, dark, skin and met the human Pathfinder’s amused gaze. It was a point of pride for Vetra that she’d _never_ had trouble looking anyone in the eyes for any reasons other than awkward height differentials or full-faced breathing apparatuses. And yet, ever since meeting Scott’s sister, Vetra found it . . . difficult, at best, to not only _hold_ the small woman’s gaze, but to _meet_ _it_ in the first place. And for reasons she didn’t care to explore.

 

As with most non-Turian women, Sara Ryder was all softness and curves. Muscular, in that voluptuous way humans tended to be, all dramatic roundness and surprising firmness, packaged in an epidermis that was so touchable and malleable, silken and delicate, it was tough to imagine _any_ species with such pretty, but inefficient skin surviving to the adulthood of its race.

 

“So . . . Sara,” Vetra mumbled from behind the rim of her Drossix Blue, pushing away sudden curiosity about whether Sara’s skin also _tasted_ like Salarian mocha . . . smoky, dark, and sinfully rich. “How’d you like the wedding?”

 

Sara smiled, white-white teeth peeking from between her shining, plum-tinted lips. The tint matched her strappy, lightweight shift-dress, but not the worn, grey combat-boots on her small, narrow feet. “Oh, it was great. First one I’ve been to since the Milky Way—and it was weird walking my _brother_ down the aisle—but still . . . it was . . . touching. And it made me a bit melancholy, too, I suppose.” She shrugged, sipping from her glass of champagne, one fine-boned, five-fingered hand resting on her abdomen.

 

“Melancholy?” Vetra asked, her mandibles lifting in surprise and question. “May I ask how so? And is that a feeling commonly inspired by human weddings? It’s just . . . I’ve never been to one,” she apologized.

 

Sara laughed, bright and loud, her head tipping back a little, exposing her long, pale—compared to the rest of her—neck and vulnerable throat. Vetra took a moment to absently wonder if Sara’s skin would taste like mocha _there_ , as well . . . or perhaps like the fine, Asari spun-caramel it resembled. . . .

 

“Well, it may be common for _some_ people. Ever hear the human saying: _Always a bridesmaid . . . never a bride_?” When Vetra shook her head no—which made the room slowly and ponderously revolve, and forced Vetra to lean more heavily against the pylon for support—Sara’s smile turned wry and a bit rueful. “Well, it seems to be particularly true in the cases of some. Me, included. Back home—well, back in the Milky Way—almost all of my friends were married by the time they were twenty-five. Me? Not so much. I was everyone’s bridesmaid, or maid of honor, or best woman. But never a bride. And now, here I am, doing double-duty as father of the bride _and_ maid of honor, and the person I’m giving away is my _younger_ brother.”

 

“Ah,” Vetra said sagely, though she still wasn’t entirely certain she was following Sara’s explanation for her melancholy feelings. Then she frowned, mandibles drawing in as she realized something. “Wait, aren’t you and Scott _twins_?”

 

“Well, _yeah_ , but,” Sara mumbled, a faint, barely visible flush rising to her dark cheeks, “I was born _first_. He’s nineteen minutes younger than me.” She snorted, sipping at her champagne again. “He’s my _baby brother_ and he got married _before_ I did! Assuming I ever _do_!”

 

Vetra chuckled once more, finally catching on to some of Sara’s chagrin. “Always a bridesmaid . . . never a bride . . . right. I see. Sort of. I mean . . . can we _really_ be sure which of them is the bride, though?”

 

“Ha!” Sara bobbed up on her tiptoes—she was several inches shorter than her brother, who wasn’t tall, even for a human—to see above the shifting crowds. At the back wall of _Tartarus’s_ main room, near tables piled high with gifts and decorations, booze and food, Scott Ryder-Vidal and his brand-new husband sat practically in each other’s laps—gazing into each other’s eyes—clearly communicating, but just as clearly not speaking a single word.

 

At least until Reyes leaned in to whisper in Scott’s ear, with lots of unnecessary nuzzling of Scott’s for-once clean-shaven cheek. The other Pathfinder grinned suddenly and laughed, turning his face toward his husband’s just in time for the kind of kiss humans seemed to enjoy so, and about which Vetra had always been curious.

 

Purely for scientific reasons, of course. After all, it was _impossible_ for human lips to be as soft and supple and _sweet_ as they looked, right? Im. Possible.

 

Though, glancing back at an envious, pouting Sara Ryder, Vetra suddenly had her doubts about what was possible and what wasn’t.

 

“I’ll tell ya something, Vetra: you didn’t hear this from me, but . . . everyone’s favorite Pathfinder?” Sara’s brows shot up. “Looks better in a dress and a pair of heels than _I_ do.”

 

Vetra’s mandibles _really_ opened wide and she burst out laughing loud enough that nearby heads turned. “Is that so?”

 

“Don’t let the linebacker shoulders and rogue-cop stubble fool ya.” Sara rolled her eyes ceiling-ward before focusing on Vetra again. “When we were teenagers, he used to ‘borrow’ my clothes to go clubbing. And my make-up. Not only did he look better in both than _I_ did, but he stretched my sweaters and blouses out so much, they looked ridiculous on me. Mom started taking him shopping with us and bought him plenty of pretty, frilly things of his own— _boy_ , did she . . . Dad was _thrilled_ —but he _still_ stole shit from my closet habitually.”

 

“I have the same problem, now that Sid’s big enough to not only wear my clothes, but stretch them out,” Vetra grumbled, sighed, then glanced around for the tell-tale flash of pale that was Sid’s carapace. She spotted it in seconds, at the far end of the bar, chatting up the gangling, but cute, young Turian tending bar. “Well, as long as she’s not stealing and warping my _armor_ with those child-bearing hips.”

 

“Ugh, don’t even get me _started_ on child-bearing,” Sara moaned, taking a big gulp of her champagne. It was mostly finished. “Scott and Reyes are already looking at egg-donors.”

 

“Wow.”

 

“Yeah. _My_ dopey-ass brother’s gonna be someone’s _Dad_ , in the not-too-distant future. I dunno whether that gives me hope or makes me nervous,” Sara said dryly, but the look she sent toward her brother and brother-in-law—who were still making out as if they were the only two people in the bar, arms around each other, restless and tight—was equal parts envy and genuine happiness.

 

“Eh, I’d say a cautious mix of both would be appropriate,” Vetra allowed, mandibles lifting high and wide in a grin. “And _you_ get to be cool Aunt Sara.”

 

“ _Cool Aunt Sara_ , eh?” Sara cast a sideways glance at Vetra, then smiled. “I . . . like the sound of that . . . I mean, if I can’t be _Mommy_ , then I guess _cool Aunt Sara’s_ the next best thing.”

 

“Who says you _can’t_ be someone’s mom? I think you’d be a good one.” Vetra shrugged when Sara gave her an unreadable look with those strange, round, color-shifting eyes. “You don’t need a partner to raise a child. Or to conceive one.”

 

“I know,” Sara said, sighing, before smiling sadly. “But I kinda _want_ one. I mean, I can’t—I _won’t_ —deprive my child of the security of two parents just because my biological clock’s begun to sound like Big Ben.”

 

Vetra inclined her head. “I can understand that reasoning,” she murmured, thinking of her own motherless childhood, and Sid’s motherless _and_ fatherless childhood. “But even if you don’t want to conceive a child on your own . . . there’re plenty of parentless children out there that’d _love_ a mom like you . . . even if there wasn’t a _dad_ to go with her.”

 

“Well. _Other-mom_ ,” Sara corrected, meeting Vetra’s sobering gaze steadily. “And you’re right—I _know_ you’re right. It’s just . . . I got to a certain age and I accepted that for whatever reason, I was likely to be a lifelong lone-wolf. But I kinda always figured I’d have _company_ , y’know? Me and Scotty . . . lone-wolves together.”

 

Vetra’s mandibles tucked in a bit. “Kinda defeats the purpose of being a lone-wolf if you’ve got company, Sara.”

 

“Yeah,” Sara said again, all sad agreement as she starred off at Suvi and PeeBee, who were swaying in the middle of the dance floor slowly, almost cautiously, as if afraid of breaking the _something-fragile_ several hours of almost exclusive dancing with each other had wrought. Suvi was gazing up at PeeBee as if she’d never seen the Asari rogue before. And PeeBee was blinking down at Suvi as if she’d been poleaxed and couldn’t decide whether or not she liked it.

 

“You know what this all feels like?” Sara suddenly demanded, eyes narrowed at two other happy couples—Jaal and a pretty, graceful Asari dressed in flowing silver . . . and, not too far distant, Liam Kosta was swaying off-rhythm with an equally _on_ -rhythm Keema Dohrgun—making the rounds of the dance floor. “This feels like five minutes to midnight on December 31st.”

 

Vetra blinked. “Okay. That’s oddly specific.”

 

Sara snorted. “On Earth and Luna, that’s the final day of the year. December 31st. And it’s a tradition that the moment midnight of the new year hits, everyone should have a partner—be it friend, lover, or a loved one, to at least peck on the cheek and wish a happy new year.” Turning to face Vetra, stepping into Vetra’s personal bubble, eyes still narrowed, Sara crossed her arms defensively. “Every New Year’s Eve, I got my hopes up, only for them to die an ignoble death at 11:59:59. Every. Year. I dunno if it’s because I wasn’t trying hard enough, or trying _too_ hard—or if I was too picky or not pretty enough for even a drunk, desperate party-goer to kiss . . . or if it’s just my shitty luck. Luck of the draw. But _Scott_ always had someone to kiss. Even back when we were _fourteen_ —Ryan Sullivan practically hoovered the lips off Scotty’s face at our parents’ party, when midnight rolled around! If our folks hadn’t intervened, I’m pretty sure Scotty would’ve lost his V-card that night!”

 

“Hmm,” Vetra hummed, unsure if she should be uncomfortable hearing all this . . . or amused. “And the, ah, loss of the V-card is a big deal among humans.”

 

“Eh. Not as big as it once was, but . . . yeah. We still get sentimental about our firsts. No matter how awful and fumbling they were, we humans remember our firsts fondly. First date, first kiss, first love, first . . . _time_.” Sara shook her head self-mockingly. “Our powers of nostalgia are formidable. And stupid.”

 

“Oh, I don’t think so.” When Sara blinked up at her, surprised, Vetra smiled a bit loopily. “Maybe it’s because I spent a lot of my formative years around humans and Asari, but . . . I think sentimentality and nostalgia are . . . endearing.”

 

The right corner of Sara’s mouth quirked in a crooked grin. “Is that so?”

 

“Well.” Vetra cleared her throat and glanced off into the crowd. Cora and Kallo were attempting something that looked like the love-child of a tango and a Turian waltz. Vetra could only hope limbs didn’t get broken. Theirs or those of innocent bystanders. “Anyway, it’s not about how many kisses you rack up, but how many of them you rack up with the _right person_ ,” she mused, her gaze drifting irresistibly to the newlyweds once more. They’d stopped kissing, and Scott was just cuddled up in Reyes’s arms, looking satisfied and content. Reyes, meanwhile, was staring in Vetra’s direction, smirking. He waggled his eyebrows with unsubtle exaggeration just before glancing to Vetra’s left—presumably at Sara. Then Reyes glanced back at Vetra and waggled his brows again, his smirk deepening, just before he closed his eyes. He then kissed the close-cropped crown of Scott’s head, and leaned back against the wall, his own satisfaction and contentment radiating outward like heat-energy from a small sun.

 

Vetra’s mandibles fluttered in embarrassment and chagrin, and she took another swig—the _last_ swig—of her bottle of Drossix Blue.

 

“I never thought of it that way,” Sara admitted, and when Vetra risked a glance at the human, she was staring down into her mostly-finished glass of bubbly, those enticing lips pushed out in a discontented pout. “Though, now that I have, it's even _more_ depressing, since . . . I don’t think I’ve _ever_ had a kiss with _a_ right person . . . let alone _the_ right person.”

 

“That’s . . . wow. I’m . . . sorry, Sara. But if it’s any comfort . . . you’re not the only one.”

 

Sara looked up at Vetra frowning. “Haven’t met your Prince—or, um, Princess?—Charming, yet, either? Or a reasonable facsimile?”

 

“Nope!” Vetra snorted, placing her empty on the tray of a passing Angaran server. She then crossed her arms over her chest—strange, to be wearing her nicest suit, instead of her armor . . . she felt practically naked—straightening a bit as she realized that the room was spinning a lot less than it had been. Vetra knew she was a lightweight, just like her father had been, but by the same token, she sobered up almost as fast as she got drunk. “Sid and I were on our own at a young age—I was barely legal to work and she was a toddler—and by the time she was old enough to be on her own for a night, I . . . wasn’t a kid anymore. I had no idea how to navigate an adult dating-world. And no time, really.”

 

“Huh. Well, for the record, the only real difference between teenage-dating and adult dating is, well—”

 

“The sex?”

 

Sara laughed. “No—the eventuality of cohabitation!”

 

Vetra rolled her eyes, but joined Sara in laughing. “Ah, yes. That’s _definitely_ not something I’ve ever done. By the time Sid was old enough to handle me maybe bringing someone home . . . I’d learned to live without that kind of companionship. Sid and I had each other. That was enough.”

 

“ _Was_?”

 

Vetra pointed off toward the bar, where Sid was still flirting with the gangling, young Turian bartender. He wasn’t even pretending to be still mixing drinks, just leaning on the bar and chatting with a riveted Sid. “Sid’s always been her own person. Always known what she wanted and needed from life. Who she was and who she wasn’t. Who she wanted to _be_.” Vetra looked over at Sara again, and found the human watching her intently. “And she’s _never_ wanted to be a spinster, like me.”

 

Sara’s straight brows lifted and her eyes seemed to twinkle extra-bright. “Uh . . . I don’t think that’s a title you’re qualified to wear, Vetra. You may be a lone-wolf, like me, but you’re no spinster. You’re far too . . . dynamic and gorgeous, brave and bold, for that term to ever accurately describe you.”

 

Mandibles _really_ fluttering, now, Vetra looked down . . . found herself staring at Sara’s trim waist and curving hips. “Sara . . . _Ryder_. . . .”

 

“No, you had it right, the first time, Vetra,” Sara said quietly, moving a bit closer to Vetra, still. She smelled of some tropical body-wash or scent . . . like coconut and citrus. And her hair, her cheeks, her lips— _all of her_ —looked so very _soft_. . . .

 

Especially her varicolored eyes, when Vetra dared to meet them.

 

“I’m. . . .” Vetra began hesitantly, wishing she had another bottle of Drossix Blue to hide behind. “I mean—”

 

“Would you maybe care to dance?” Sara asked suddenly, holding out her free hand. Vetra’s brows lifted.

 

“I . . . don’t really, um. . . .”

 

“That’s okay. If you’re willing to take a leap of faith, I promise I can shake a tailfeather well enough for both of us.” Sara grinned.

 

“I don’t know. . . .” Vetra sighed, and just then, the DJ, a Salarian with an especially manic demeanor, changed the song from something sacred, slow, and Asari, to something beat-heavy, old, and distinctly human. Almost everyone on the dance floor and off it seemed to recognize the song, smiles crossing their faces as they began to shake their hips and asses in time. “I . . . really don’t think this is the kind of song that needs _my_ bony, Turian ass wrecking it.”

 

Sara giggled, then tossed back the last of her champagne, handing her glass to a passing guest, a Krogan who took it out of sheer surprise. Then, Sara Ryder was taking Vetra’s left hand and tugging her to the dance floor. Vetra, sobering up _much_ faster, now, resisted half-heartedly, stumping heavily after the small, human woman, eyes locked on the sway of those soft, curving hips and the firm, round ass attached to them. The very ends of Sara’s braids brushed the small of her smooth, bare back, just above waist of the apparently backless dress. . . .

 

Before Vetra knew it, she and Sara were out in the middle of the floor, the Pathfinder turning to face Vetra, smiling with that plush mouth and those big, pretty eyes.

 

 _Expectant_ eyes.

 

“I, uh . . . don’t know where to put my, um—” Vetra waved her three-fingered hands in a distinctly jazzy-motion. Sara laughed, leaning in a bit, hands clasped together, braids swinging forward like a dark, heavy curtain. Then, she was straightening up, reaching out to Vetra and placing her small hands on Vetra’s narrow waist. At Sara’s urging, Vetra shuffled closer, her arms held out in mid-air, frozen.

 

Then, Sara looked up into Vetra’s eyes and pressed close to her, till her warm— _so_ warm—soft—so _soft_ —body was flush against Vetra’s. And, as if that was all the sign they’d been waiting for, Vetra’s hands settled on Sara’s upper arms for a few moments, before sliding over to the silken expanse of back under those tiny braids. Even to Vetra’s tough, callused palms, the skin under them felt like _Heaven_. For moments, all she could do was stare down into Sara’s wide, shocked eyes and wonder if the Pathfinder felt this way _all over_. If . . . if the softness that slid so sweetly under Vetra’s palms would also be sweet on her _tongue_. . . .

 

And then . . . they were swaying together, slow and not at all to the deep, sensual beat. Well, _Vetra_ wasn’t. Sara, despite the slowness of her sway, was somehow in time with the song, which was apparently about brick houses and how mighty-mighty they were . . . letting all of . . . _something_ hang out. Laundry, perhaps?

 

At some point during the song, Sara’s hands migrated from Vetra’s waist, up to Vetra’s chest, where they rested lightly: a gentle, warm weight that felt so right, it was almost breathtaking.

 

Vetra’s hands had moved down to the small of the human’s back, resting half-on the curve of her ass. They all but _ached_ to move lower, still.

 

Instead, she restrained herself—chalked this mad desire up to too much Drossix Blue—and pressed the taloned tips of her fingers carefully against Sara’s delicate skin, drawing slow, small circles that made Sara shiver and smile up at her.

 

“Wow. You’re, uh . . . for someone who doesn’t know how to dance, you sure picked up the important stuff pretty quickly,” she told Vetra breathlessly, her eyes dilated and wondering. Vetra controlled her mandibles rigidly, forcing them to be still and not flutter with embarrassment and anxiety.

 

“You don’t have to be nice,” she demurred, nonetheless holding Sara just a little closer. The other woman blinked and smiled rather beatifically . . . before laughing loud and raucously.

 

“Ask Scott: I’m _far_ from nice. In fact, I’m kind of a bitch. So, when _I_ compliment someone, I _mean_ it. You’re the best dance partner I’ve _ever_ had and, well, I’ve had quite a few.” Sara shrugged, still chuckling.

 

“I’ve . . . never actually danced with anyone,” Vetra admitted. Sara’s wide eyes went even wider.

 

“For real? This is your first dance?” Off Vetra’s shamed nod, Sara’s eyes and smile warmed, and softened. “Then consider me _honored_ to be your first.”

 

There went Vetra’s mandibles. “I . . . thank you? I mean . . . you’re welcome? Um—”

 

Sara laughed again, bouncing up on her toes, which put her at about eye-to-chin with Vetra. “I’m also gonna go out on a limb and guess that . . . you’ve never been kissed by a human, before, either?”

 

This time, Vetra’s eyes were the ones to widen, and her mouth dropped open. In her utter shock, her mandibles were frozen once more.

 

Sara searched her eyes for a few moments before huffing in amusement. “I’ll take that as a _no_ ,” she said, one hand reaching up to cup Vetra’s cheek. Her palm was warmer and softer than anything had a right to be, and Vetra could only close her eyes for nearly a minute. “Well . . . how would you _like_ to be? Kissed by a human, that is?”

 

“ _Ryder_ ,” Vetra breathed, her voice shaking out of her all whistling and high. “What—”

 

“Shut up and get _down here_ ,” Sara commanded, laughter in her voice once more. Vetra made a small, near-whimper that turned into a moan as she bent just enough that her lips brushed the bridge of Sara’s pug nose. That was good for another giggle, one that Vetra captured with her mouth and tasted with her tongue—after cracking her eyes open a bit to make sure she was zeroing in on the correct spot.

 

She was.

 

Sara made a hungry, surprisingly wanton sound, her lips—as sweet as anything Vetra had ever tasted and far softer than even her imaginings had made them—parting instantly under Vetra’s mouth, her tongue teasing and welcoming of Vetra’s, at turns. She pressed her soft, pliant body even more tightly against Vetra’s hard, stiff one, and Vetra’s taloned fingertips continued to trace feather-light circles on the small of Sara’s back. Soon, the other woman was moaning into their kiss . . . then breaking it with a sharp gasp. Her changeable eyes were nearly all pupil as they gazed up at Vetra, who had to fight to focus her vision when she finally _could_ open her eyes.

 

“So,” Sara sighed happily, her breathing markedly accelerated. “That was a _helluva_ first. Possibly a _best_.”

 

“Really?” Vetra’s brow quirked up and her mandibles lifted in a smile that probably looked as goofy as it felt. But Vetra was far from caring.

 

“Really,” Sara confirmed, running her index finger down Vetra’s left mandible with a tantalizing tease. Vetra shivered so hard, it was practically a _shudder_ , leaning into that touch with a genteel groan. “And you’re _super_ -responsive, too? Wow. Just . . . _wow_ . . . how are you _not_ taken?”

 

“Beats me,” Vetra said wryly, her left hand slipping slowly, reluctantly down to cup Sara’s right ass-cheek. Lightly, at first, then more firmly when Sara’s eyes flashed and she nodded once, smirking. “But that means there’s more of me for some lucky person to discover. Maybe even keep.”

 

“Hmm . . . maybe,” Sara echoed, leaning up for another kiss that Vetra was happy to supply.

 

Around them, the dance floor pulsed and shook and throbbed with enthusiastic dancers of varying levels of talent—including the two grooms. Scott and Reyes had finally left their private world behind to join their well-wishers in shaking it to a break-neck fast, Salarian pop song Vetra remembered as topping the charts back when Sid was little. The kind of song _made_ for flailing and gyrating . . . which was exactly what everyone else was doing.

 

Not that _that_ mattered to either woman.

 

For, _despite_ the awful, tinny-fast Salarian speed-pop, Vetra and Sara continued to sway to the beat of a song only they could hear. It, too, could’ve been about mighty brick houses, or some other improbable, human fantasy, but that didn’t matter, either. All that mattered was the way Sara’s soft, perfect weight leaned into Vetra’s rangy, lean body—even long after their kisses turned into a tight clinch, with Sara’s warm face pressed to Vetra’s narrow sternum—her arms wrapped tight and possessive around Vetra’s waist.

 

All that mattered was the way Vetra’s body towered and loomed protectively over Sara’s, her face close enough to Sara’s crown to inhale the sweet, musky scent of some sort of hair-serum. One hand settled between Sara’s shoulder-blades, under the heavy braids, and the other hand still rested happily on Sara’s ass. As if it’d been made to rest nowhere else.

 

“Okay, this is literally _the most_ romantic moment of my _life_ , but even _I_ can’t ignore the intrusion of Krogan thrash-metal,” Sara finally leaned back to mouth up at Vetra, who was wincing at the extra-loud, extra-thrash-y metal that had just started playing. Even Drack, at his corner of the bar, knocking back beers like _Tartarus_ was going out of business the next day, seemed to be wincing at the volume and marrow-mangling beat.

 

Vetra chuckled and smiled lamely. “Yeah . . . I, um . . . I guess every moment has its end!” she said, loud enough to be heard over the horrible, Krogan noise, her mandibles canting downward in disappointment.

 

Sara’s smile was small and hopeful, her kiss-swollen lips still so kissable. “Oh, I dunno . . . I’ll bet that if we put our heads together . . . between the two of us we can think of a way to jumpstart the moment. Maybe somewhere a little _quieter_ and . . . a _lot_ more private. Like . . . your quarters on the _Tempest_?”

 

Vetra could only gape. For long enough that the Krogan song ended and became another human standard:

 

“ _Don’t worry, baby,/ It ain’t nothin’ new./ That’s just love/ Sneakin’ up on you_ ,” Sara sang along, before biting her lip and stepping back to take Vetra’s hand in her own. Vetra swallowed nervously, but linked their fingers together tight, and let the smaller woman lead her off the dance floor, only absently noting the knowing gazes, and outright hoots and supportive applause that followed them out of _Tartarus_.

 

“ _If your whole world’s shakin’, baby,/ And you feel like I do./ That’s just love/ Sneakin’ up on you_. . . .” Sara’s hips swung sinuously as she sang and walked, drawing and keeping Vetra’s admiring gaze. At least until Sara glanced coyly over her shoulder at her entranced partner with challenge heating her eyes.

 

Said partner finally pushed the humming, giggling Pathfinder against the wall of an Angaran curio shop with her body, pinning the smaller woman and staring down into her eyes.

 

She could feel the urgent, yearning beat of Sara’s fragile, human heart against her stomach, and when she freed Sara’s left hand and stood back to ghost her right one over that trip-hammering tattoo, Sara gasped again. Took a deep breath and placed her hand on Vetra’s wrist to shift that light touch, her own eyes widening as Vetra took the hint and cupped Sara’s breast gently, hesitantly squeezing and kneading the full, heavy, unfamiliar weight.

 

Soon, Sara’s nipple was a small, firm point against the stroking pad of Vetra’s thumb and those changeable eyes were almost entirely pupil. Her breathing was light and fast and erratic.

 

“ _You just can’t fight it/ When a thing’s meant to be./_ _So, come on, let’s finish/ What you started with me_ ,” Sara whispered shakily, and Vetra—overcome by velvety-dark desire and sunshine-bright elation—swooped in to kiss the lyrics from soft, sweet lips that _nonetheless_ seemed to sing . . . even when so decisively silenced.

 

It was the better part of an hour before they could collect themselves enough to dash—hand-in-hand, giggling breathlessly, with clothing all askew—for the _Tempest’s_ berth, not far hence.

 

END

**Author's Note:**

> Written for these prompts:
> 
>  
> 
> _5\. hands on the other person’s back, fingertips pressing under their top, drawing gentle circles against that small strip of bare skin that make them break the kiss with a gasp_  
>  8\. being unable to open their eyes for a few moments afterward  
> 17\. height difference kisses where one person has to bend down and the other is on their tippy toes
> 
>  
> 
> Come play on [The Tumbles](http://beetle-ships-it-all.tumblr.com)!


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